


If You Can't Dance, I'll Teach You Not to Stand On Toes

by RubyFiamma



Series: Daily Life Arc {Future Vongola Edition} [5]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: 5980 - Freeform, 8059, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bruising, Drunken Flirting, Established Relationship, Gokudera Tops, Hickeys, M/M, Marking, Mentions of drugs and alcohol, Possessive Behavior, Premonition!verse, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Yamamoto Gets Too Touchy Feely When He's Drunk, jealous!Gokudera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 15:30:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyFiamma/pseuds/RubyFiamma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yamamoto is a flirtatious drunk who can't dance if his life depended on it and Gokudera takes it upon himself to teach him a lesson in things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Can't Dance, I'll Teach You Not to Stand On Toes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tastewithouttalent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/gifts).



> _Newly revised and properly edited. Maybe._
> 
>  
> 
> For Kat, who had the overwhelming need for Yamamoto to get fucked against a wall. Coz, let's be honest here. Who _doesn't_?

 

 

 

**If You Can’t Dance, I’ll Teach You Not to Stand on Toes**

 

* * *

 

 

 It starts off with an increasingly bad mood as Gokudera is not one for faceless crowds and festivities but has to be here on a show of good faith. It  _is_ for the boss after all. 

The Langouste  _famille_  is one of the Vongola’s allied families in France. The daughter of the  _sotto_ _capo_ is getting married and the Tenth asked him and Yamamoto to attend the reception. He understands why the Tenth chose them. Gokudera is usually the diplomatic guardian to send out for business talks hidden behind formal parties. Yamamoto is the decoy; he’s appeasing and cordial and he knows how to entertain his company, not to mention strikingly good looking. Gokudera hates to think of Yamamoto being good at  _anything_ but he’s learned to give appreciation where it’s due.

But it does  _not_ help Gokudera’s ever rising irritation when he glances over at his partner and sees him with a bridesmaid he recognises as Riva Belgarde, daughter of the Etienne family’s consigliere. Yamamoto’s cupping her elbow while he leans in and whispers something in her ear, laughing as she pulls away and her cheeks flush pink.

Gokudera doesn’t drink at these functions because sometimes he gets a little unreasonable when he’s drank too much and well, he’s on the clock. He wouldn’t be a very responsible right hand man if he were to get drunk and make a fool of himself. However, tonight he’s made an exception and he’s currently nursing his fifth double, a fine Amorik single malt and customary wedding cigar clenched between his teeth. Gokudera needs the alcohol to dull the edges of his agitation spiking or he’s going to lose his shit. He can’t stand the sound of the women and their syrupy giggles or that Yamamoto is the cause of them. He isn’t drunk  _yet_ but it’s getting increasingly hard to ignore Yamamoto’s infectious laugh and harder to trump the tingling jolts passing through his groin with anger.

He’s already started the night in a bad mood and watching Yamamoto flirt with all the not-so-unfortunate looking Parisian bachelorettes isn’t making it any better. He can’t understand why because though jealousy  _is_ one of his more predominant emotions, it isn’t one he lets get the better of him — not so much now that he’s in his early twenties and a respectable consigliere of Italy’s most influential families. But perhaps it has something to do with the fact that he and Yamamoto haven’t been able to see much of each other lately, let alone touch. And maybe it’s because these stuffy parties are a pointless and boring way to spend his time when he  _could_ be spending it with Yamamoto, but that isn’t something he can complain about because this is for the family and for the Tenth.

But Gokudera has a suspicious and infuriating feeling that he’s definitely jealous, Yamamoto looks so goddamn  _fuckable_  in a suit and he really wants to remind Yamamoto who he belongs to.

"— the documents and blueprints have already been downloaded to your PDA."

Gokudera realises he hasn’t been listening and feels a little ashamed that he’s forgotten he was in the middle of a conversation with one of the Langouste family  _capos_ _,_ Sacha LeBlanc, about a major drug lab they’ve been having trouble with — the  _real_ reason the Tenth asked for their attendance.

Gokudera clears his throat and follows with a sip of whiskey. “Right. Thank you. My partner and I will take a look at the information and I’ll be able to devise a tactical approach from that.”

"How many soldiers will you need?" Leblanc asks, casually sipping bourbon from a crystal tumbler.

"We shouldn’t need many," Gokudera tells him, _trying_ to sound professional when his voice is getting to be too much on edge for even his own ears. “My partner and I, as well as you… I’ll have to assess the layout for the warehouse, but around fifteen men — ten if they’re really crafty — should do.”

"It’s normally a problem we wouldn’t need assistance with but they move locations so often that it’s difficult to keep up," LeBlanc mutters sourly.

Gokudera nods curtly. “The drugs they’re peddling have been a  menace to the Tenth. They’ve been spreading across Italy and as of two days ago, there’s been ten drug-related deaths from their product. We think they’ve been moving into Sicily through Porto Palo.”

LeBlanc gives him a puzzling look. “Porto Palo? But why go through the trouble of  —”

Yamamoto’s loud and raucous laughter rings through their conversation and Gokudera feels his fingers itch for the mini bombs he has wrapped around his wrists. Blowing the idiot up would be a more than satisfying way to end the night if he continues to act like a drunken playboy.

He glares at the Rain Guardian, who is in the middle of some god awful rendition of the East Coast Swing with both Riva Belgarde and another dainty blond, with fair skin and a fairly decent rack fitted in a short, pale lemon chiffon dress. The women are giggling and complaining about Yamamoto’s footwork and their hands roam any part of his body freely that Yamamoto hasn’t the capacity to evade.

"Sorry for my partner’s lax attitude… And the interruption," Gokudera grunts, puffing in his cigar. He’s about five minutes out from fixing that fucking attitude.

"No, don’t worry about it," LeBlanc laughs in heavily accented English. "He looks like he’s having fun."

 _A_ _little_ _too_ _much_ _fun_ _,_ Gokudera thinks to himself as he glowers at Yamamoto’s dancing, grimacing as he steps on toes and _his_  hands travel to places that make Gokudera want to scrawl his name over every inch of Yamamoto’s body in permanent tattoo ink after he’s beaten the shit out of him for good measure.

His antics are drawing too much attention and some distasteful looks from the older, more conservative family members. Gokudera watches him throw his head back in another fit of laughter and then turns to pick up another flute of champagne from one of the waiters. He has _clearly_ had way too much to drink.

Gokudera clears his throat again and turns to LeBlanc. He’s had enough of this stupid and embarrassing display. “I apologise, but you’re going to have to excuse me. I need to… speak with my colleague,” Gokudera spits, and he is disgusted to hear the thickness of jealousy that makes it into each word.

LeBlanc laughs nervously. “Sure. Don’t be too hard on him. It is a party after all, monsieur Gokudera. We’ll meet at the specified rendezvous point tomorrow at o’ nine hundred hours.”

Gokudera gives another curt nod and stalks over to the drunken guardian, still tripping over women’s feet and exploding with boisterous laughter. Gokudera smiles politely at the  _women_  who noisily complain, which somehow leads to a very awkward and pointless tug of war until Gokudera, as mannerly as he possibly can, tells them to go fuck themselves. That  _is_  what he would have liked to have said, but it would have been very uncouth and that’s just not Gokudera Hayato, the Vongola Decimo’s consigliere. 

"Takeshi," Gokudera growls under his breath while glaring at the women, finally getting him free. "Come with me,  _i_ _diota_ _._ ”

That would be the extremely irate and jealous Gokudera Hayato, Yamamoto’s _very_ pissed off boyfriend; and the man he’s dragging out of the ballroom is about to be a very dead Yamamoto Takeshi.

"Baby! Come dance with me!" Yamamoto chirps loudly, swinging his arms clumsily. Gokudera catches his arms and drags him to a nearby walk-in hall closet that seems currently unoccupied. Not that it should be, but one would never know at these kinds of functions.

Dating in the Mafia is hard enough but dating a man who’s a Guardian for the Vongola family, and you’re  _the_ Gokudera Hayato and he’s  _the_ Yamamoto Takeshi, a very frustratingly sexy-in-a-suit  _idiot_ , well it’s just near fucking impossible.

"Don’t call me  _that_ _,_ " Gokudera snarls, pushing Yamamoto inside. His back hits the wall with a soft thud and Gokudera hastily shuts the door behind him. "God, how much have you had to drink?"

His fingers work at the knot in Yamamoto’s tie before Yamamoto can be coherent to what’s really going on. He laughs and lazily lifts his head, catching Gokudera’s eyes for a split second before Gokudera has to look away and remember that he’s _angry_ and to _not_ get lost in the yearning haze that’s curtained over the gold in Yamamoto’s eyes.

"What are we doing here?" Yamamoto slurs, the back end of his sentence catching on a giggle. He’s barely able to stand firmly on his own feet.

"I’m going to teach you a lesson," Gokudera growls as he works his slender fingers nimbly down the buttons of Yamamoto’s dress shirt. "For having to make me watch that god  _awful_ dancing of yours.” He pauses to catch himself before he says something too revealing but it slips out anyways. He’s too focused at the way his fingertips spark when they brush the exposed skin below Yamamoto’s dress shirt. “And to remind you of who you belong to.”

"Who I —  _Oh_ _,_ " Yamamoto exhales and it’s so hushed Gokudera can barely hear it himself. He’s already pushing the jacket off Yamamoto’s shoulders and leaning in to press his mouth against the bob of Yamamoto’s throat before sinking his teeth in. Yamamoto gasps above him and Gokudera wastes no time fitting his knee in between Yamamoto’s legs in an effort to spread them wider while he palms Yamamoto’s shoulders back and pins him against the closet wall.

"H-here?" Yamamoto stutters dreamily and Gokudera doesn’t offer a response. He’s too busy sliding his hand down the curve of Yamamoto’s torso and sucking at the juncture between the other’s neck and shoulder. When Gokudera’s hands start undoing Yamamoto’s belt, he groans Gokudera’s name and Gokudera dips his head down to the hollow between Yamamoto’s collarbone, trailing his tongue along the skin before he pinches it between his teeth. He knows he’s likely leave visible bruises but if this is the way Yamamoto is going to act then everyone else should see that he’s already marked, that he’s  _taken_ and Gokudera isn’t nice enough to share.

Yamamoto’s hand tangles in his hair and he tries to drag Gokudera’s head from his chest to his mouth, but Gokudera doesn’t want that yet. He’s too busy biting and sucking against Yamamoto’s skin on his way down, leaving angry red hickeys that will later form into purple and yellow nebulae splashed across the sun kissed skin. It’s they way Gokudera desires it, perfect constellations that tell a story of just how much Gokudera  _wants_ Yamamoto, because the words he can’t quite say. And then they’ll fade and Gokudera will replace them with new ones, each time a different pattern on a different part of Yamamoto’s skin, but the story will always remain the same.

He reaches Yamamoto’s abdomen, can feel the pull of muscles under his lips when Yamamoto’s anticipating inhale gets caught in his throat. He doesn’t spend time there, just bites and sucks the skin until he’s satisfied the blood has reached the surface and Yamamoto’s groaning and hissing in pain and pleasure. Gokudera doesn’t waste time pulling down Yamamoto’s pants and boxers all at once over his hips, the tug on his hair making him hiss sharply before Yamamoto’s hand loosens the resistance. He drops to his knees and licks a hard stripe against Yamamoto’s thigh, feels shudder under his lips when Gokudera presses them to the space on his thigh close enough to be a tease and leaves yet another mark. Yamamoto’s hands are back in his hair, the influence of alcohol allowing groans to slip fast and fluidly out of his mouth and Gokudera hasn’t even gotten to the good part.

He doesn’t however, have time to tease. He can’t see in the darkness but his mind has already collected the past memories of Yamamoto’s flushed cock, straining and aching for attention and judging by the tightening grip pulling at his scalp, Gokudera’s hindsight serves correct. He wraps a hand around Yamamoto’s cock, listens to him inhale sharply with the motion and moves in short, quick strokes. He spits in the palm of his other hand, uses it to get his fingers well coated before he trails them across Yamamoto’s entrance.

“ _Oh_ _,_ " he hears Yamamoto repeat, like some semblance of clarity has worked it’s way back into his blood. He’s not used to this, but it’s not like they’ve _never_ done it and while Gokudera enjoys the burning fill of Yamamoto’s cock inside him, sometimes he  _needs_  the satisfaction of brandishing his mark all over Yamamoto, carving the memory of himself into Yamamoto’s body.

He doesn’t go slow, there’s no time for that because anyone can walk in at any time, and that’s part of the thrill. They’re still on the same floor as the ballroom and Gokudera can still hear the music floating through the walls and the scuffs of shoes outside the doors.

He pushes the tips of both fingers inside while he swallows Yamamoto’s cock, humming victory around it’s thickness when Yamamoto’s knees buck and he slides an inch or two down the wall. Yamamoto can’t wrap any form of coherency around the words and noises that leave his mouth as Gokudera pushes deeper and crooks his fingers, gliding them over the velvety walls inside. He folds his thumb and index finger around the base and holds pressure there while he strokes over his length with his mouth. He wants Yamamoto to build up until he can’t hold it in, he wants him to forget his own name. He wants the cause of Yamamoto’s disjointedness to be the pleasure he’s giving him rather than the alcohol.

He hears the back Yamamoto’s head hit the wall and he hears him utter something unintelligible as he tries to push Gokudera’s head forward, seeking more heat for his cock to sink into. It’s not enough, Gokudera thinks, if he’s still able to move. So he twists his fingers and adds a third, driving pressure until Yamamoto’s breath comes hard and laboured and he’s having difficulty remaining upright. Finally Gokudera lets the hold on the base of Yamamoto’s cock go in favour of pinning his hip against the wall and he milks him generously through his climax, swallowing the bitterness that hits against his tongue while still moving his mouth over Yamamoto’s cock.

Yamamoto is panting above him, his arms limp and loose at his sides and Gokudera knows if he lets Yamamoto’s hip go, he’s going to keel over. He withdraws his fingers and stands, pushing his body into Yamamoto’s to keep him upright. Yamamoto’s gaze slides up and falls on Gokudera’s mouth, like he’s waiting for for the kiss he’s yet to get. Gokudera doesn’t have time to kiss him now, his own cock is straining painfully against the elastic of his boxers and all he can envision his fucking Yamamoto flat against the wall.

"Turn around," he commands as he struggles to get his cock free of the suffocating cloth and all the anger has melted out of his tone. He’s not surprised to hear that his own voice is rough with desire and Yamamoto complies with a soft and distant nod, but he can’t pull off the action smoothly.

Gokudera’s a little bit rougher than he intends to be when he turns Yamamoto around with a tight grip on his shoulder and a hand pressed tightly on the small of his back. Yamamoto makes a noise but Gokudera can barely hear it over the blood rushing in his ears with the anticipation of what he’s about to do and the fear of being caught. He uses his knee to knock Yamamoto’s apart and they can’t move far, trapped by the clothing pooled around his ankles. It’s enough, Gokudera thinks as he spits into his palm again and slicks his hand over his cock. He nearly melts into the skin-on-skin contact, eyes fluttering closed for a second, but it’s not the right heat he desires. He lines up against Yamamoto’s ass, drags his hip out to meet him proper and pushes the tip of his cock inside.

He can feel Yamamoto tighten around him already, can feel the shiver of pleasure run down his spine and Gokudera worries there’s not enough lube for it not to be painful, but Yamamoto is still slick with spit and it makes the rest of the movement smooth, if not easy.

Yamamoto whines, long and low but it’s muffled against the wall where his cheek is pressed into the surface and his hands brace it to keep himself from collapsing. Gokudera puts more pressure on his hips, grips them so tight that he hopes they leave pale bruises in Yamamoto’s skin, another token to remember the night by.

Their height difference isn’t as big as it used to be, and Gokudera is able lean forward and lick a line along each vertebrae before clamping his teeth over the knob at the top of Yamamoto’s spine. It makes Yamamoto hiss and push his hips back to meet with Gokudera’s deep thrust. He pulls back as Gokudera leans forward again, palm hitting the wall above Yamamoto’s head to brace himself as he pushes in as deep as he can go. The gesture draws a groan from Gokudera and earns a keening sound high in Yamamoto’s throat when the depth of Gokudera’s cock causes the head to brush against his prostate.

“ _Fuck_.”

Gokudera knows he isn’t going to last much longer if he continues like this, there’s too much heat and too much blood rushing, his skin flushed and his heart pounding and the desire to see Yamamoto’s face is strong enough to hastily pull out, growling frustration as he grabs Yamamoto’s loose and lax frame to turn him and shove him against the wall. He puts his arm across Yamamoto’s chest, leans in and crushes their mouths together, the high course of adrenaline causes him to momentarily blank out until all he can taste is the sweet champagne off Yamamoto’s lips and all he can hear are the muffled whimpers coming from the other.

Yamamoto’s mouth opens and he draws in a breath, tries to roll Gokudera’s name out on his tongue but it’s lost when Gokudera’s own sweeps the inside of his mouth roughly and he hooks Yamamoto’s leg over his arm. He leans in and uses his strength to slide Yamamoto up the wall a few inches, enough that when he relaxes his grip and hooks Yamamoto’s other leg over his other arm, Yamamoto can sink down on his cock with ease.

He’s past any coherency now, and Gokudera’s eyes have adjusted to the darkness enough that he can see Yamamoto’s eyes are shuttered, lashes wet and mouth damp from the haphazard and hurried kiss prior. It hangs open, slack and shallow air comes out in huffs as Gokudera fucks up into him with frenetic energy. Yamamoto’s arms circle around his neck and Gokudera uses his legs to support the weight of carrying Yamamoto while he fucks him against the closet wall. He’s not even aware himself at how loud either of them are being, though Yamamoto is way past having the capacity to even moan properly, and all that leaves his mouth are short clipped words and garbled noises. 

"Haya—," Yamamoto chokes and his head falls back to hit the wall again as Gokudera drops a hand between them to jerk over Yamamoto’s hardened length. The other’s hands rest loosely on Gokudera’s shoulders, and Gokudera can see every ounce of energy Yamamoto might have had bleed out and he’s not able to keep lucid. Gokudera ignores the ache crawling down his spine and the undesirable pull in his calves and biceps as he thrusts into Yamamoto, the smooth heat enveloping Gokudera’s cock, until Yamamoto is tensing and coming hard against his own chest, inhaling a sharp breath like new life’s been cast into him. Gokudera doesn’t try to hold out any longer, Yamamoto’s clenching tight around him, drawing out his own orgasm. He shudders and all he sees is white, briefly drunk off the euphoric haze of orgasm bliss.

Gokudera comes to when his muscles pull tight in his legs and Yamamoto slumps over breathless. He’s too gone to even muster the energy to lift his head when Gokudera ducks his own to kiss him. He eases Yamamoto down and he’s shaky on his feet. Gokudera holds him against the wall as he drags Yamamoto’s pants back up and uses his suit jacket to clean the mess on Yamamoto’s chest. He’s got no idea if any of it has made onto his own dress shirt, but thankfully he’s wearing white and his own jacket lays spent on the floor.

He gets Yamamoto dressed and himself fixed up and wonders how in the hell he’ll explain himself if anyone happens to see them leave the closet. Yamamoto is still not able to stand, he’s slouched over and looking up at Gokudera, smiling and glazed and he’s fucking  _glowing_ so brightly Gokudera can just about see his radiance in the dark. He lets his own mouth slip into a smile that doesn’t normally come easy but it’s more of a victorious smirk if anything. He straightens himself out and hoists Yamamoto up to his feet. All Yamamoto can do is stare at him, his expression soft and curious, with a wide smile and dreamy fog shrouding over his eyes.

Gokudera has to look away, can feel the heat under his skin flush all the way up from his neck to the tips of his ears with the shocking reality of what they’ve just done when he rests his hand on the doorknob. His stomach flips but he opens it quickly, figuring it’s less painful to rip the band-aid off rather than peel it. A blast of cool air hits him and helps settle the racing of his pulse and he takes the chance to drag the half conscious Yamamoto out of the closet.

He hooks Yamamoto’s arm across his shoulder and glances down at himself and the jacket slung over his arm. There’s no mess visible and Gokudera can breathe easy. He spots the exit and makes a beeline for it, with Yamamoto stumbling along. Now he just looks like someone escorting a drunken idiot out of a party, except he and Yamamoto are a little disheveled and Gokudera can still feel his skin tingling with heat.

When they get to the door, Yamamoto laughs and Gokudera pauses to make sure he’s okay, since he’s been silent for an entire five minutes.

"So you were  _jealous_?” he asks in awe, like it’s taken him this long to figure it out. Perhaps it has, and maybe the cobwebs covering his alcohol and lust addled brain have finally been cleared. Not so much the same for Gokudera, who thinks he’s beginning to feel the effects of the five whiskey doubles he shot down in the space of an hour or two.

Gokudera snorts and reaches for the front doors to open them himself after eyeing down the doorman indignantly. “Next time, learn to fucking dance  _without_ putting your greedy fucking hands all over people.” He glowers at Yamamoto who laughs and nods his head amiably. 

"Also, you’d do well to remember who you belong to," Gokudera repeats, nipping at Yamamoto’s ear once they’re clear of any onlookers. He feels him shudder, still sensitive from moments earlier and when he collects himself, Yamamoto lifts a listless hand and rubs at the red welt on his throat.

"Yeah," he says whimsically, while the smile on his face spreads so wide it stretches out the scar on his chin. "I don’t think I’ll ever forget that."


End file.
